Let's finish this
by Miss C Riddle
Summary: Voldemort is a sadist, everyone knows that, but no one knows it better than Harry Potter. Oneshot. Takes places during the Battle of Hogwarts and shortly afterwards. EWE.


**Surprise! I'm not dead :) But I have taken down the stories, "My Dark Angel" and"Save Me" because leaving them up is just false hope for you all that I might continue it... I'm sorry, I don't have plans to continue them, there's no point leaving them up any more, but if you want me to send you either story so you can reread it or continue it yourself let me know and I'll give it to you~**

**Anyways, on with a new story! **

**Warnings: Voldemort harming Harry and being fascinated by blood, Voldemort harming Harry (involving whips and physical hits and kicks), powerplay, I won't be having them as a couple here, Voldemort simply harms Harry because he is fascinated with the idea of breaking him. (I hope this makes sense, it's not a couple-friendly story, but Voldemort still has a fascination with a reluctant Harry and is a complete Sadist in regards to that..)**

**Disclaimer: Hell no I don't own the HP books, a lovely blonde named JKR does, everyone knows that~**

* * *

"Let's finish this the way we started – Together!" Harry yelled, pulling the man close to him and throwing them off of the ledge. Voldemort's eyes widened and he spun mid-air, trying to apparate away, but the boy clung to him, he couldn't get away.

Enraged by the boy's insolence, he resorted to distinctly muggle measures to get revenge for their current proximity. He scratched at the boy's face with his elongated, filthy nails, pleased when blood wet his fingertips... he spread the blood over the boy's face with glee, dodging a Hogwart's tower as they flew around the grounds, grappling with each other.

He ignored the boy's pathetic attempts to mirror his actions, Harry's nails were much less useful for splitting the skin than his own claws, though their nails were equally filthy from the battle.

They rolled through the sky, losing control of their flight and hitting the ground hard within seconds. Panicking for only a second, Voldemort retrieved his wand and stood, spitting blood on the ground an injury he'd gained from his impact on the ground.

He looked around, they were in a courtyard he'd not been in since his own time at Hogwarts, it looked abandoned and it was quiet, the perfect scene for a murder.

Voldemort smirked, and strode quickly to Harry, ignoring the pain in his chest for the moment, he seized the boy – or young man, but really, Harry was only 17, still very much a boy to the Dark Lord – he grabbed Harry by the neck with one hand and tore the boy's wand away with his other hand.

"You were foolish to think you could beat me, Harry Potter... And now you shall pay the price Narcissa should receive for her deceit." He murmured, admiring the blood spattered across Harry's face, contrasting with his eyes... Avada Kedavra green some might claim, at their proximity, Voldemort would beg to differ: The-Boy-Who-Lived once had bright eyes that might match the intensity of the killing curse, but now they were dulled by tiredness, weariness, the toll of the war.

Harry glared at him, a small spark of defiance still lived on in those eyes, brightening them for a split second as Harry spat at Voldemort, struggling to escape the grip he was held tightly with.

"I'll never give in Voldemort, you can't win! You already cast the killing curse at me without me defending myself and I still lived!" Harry gasped out, choking as the grip on his throat tightened.

"True... So I won't kill you, my dear Harry, I'll have to keep you instead." Voldemort told him in a soft tone, eyes obsessively taking in his features, "You're tired of this war already, poor boy, it will be so easy to break you."

Harry's face contorted with his anger and his struggling increased, his speech impaired due to the impossibly tight grip on his throat, he grunted out incoherent words of protest while Voldemort simply smirked.

Without warning, Voldemort suddenly dropped Harry and then slapped his face, knocking him to the ground. Harry was stunned for a moment from the blow, then scrambled to stand, only to be met with a foot hitting his face and breaking his glasses in the process.

"I should have done this years ago Harry, when we first met properly in that Graveyard, do you remember? Yes, I killed that Diggory boy then... 3 years ago. How did you sleep afterwards? I heard that you insisted he take the portkey with you, but that's irrelevant now... My point is," Voldemort explained, kicking Harry into submission and then standing with one foot on his chest, keeping him still, "That magical methods don't seem to work between us, I'd suspect that you have an advantageous lucky component of magic from one of your ancestors, but that won't matter any more, because now I see that the great Harry Potter can be defeated with simple muggle methods instead."

He cast a spell, rope flew from his wand and created a noose around Harry's neck, he grabbed the end of the rope and hauled the boy close to him, close enough for him to whisper in his ear.

"And now I know this, Harry, I have won."

With another blow to the head, Harry was knocked unconscious, blissfully unaware of the chaos that would follow.

* * *

When Harry awoke, he was in a dark, uncomfortable room.

He opened his eyes, squinting in the darkness, trying to remember what had happened as unease and pain hit him at the same time. He groaned lowly, shifting and realising he must be locked up in a dungeon of some sort, Voldemort had taken him.

He felt drowsy, sluggish, and found it hard to move far, though he wasn't chained up as expected.

"V...Vold-" He tried to speak, but the noise came out oddly, slurred, Harry realised that a few of his teeth were missing, but had no explanation for why he seemed so... drugged? Had he been drugged?

"Voldemort!" He managed to yell, but the only response he gained was silence.

He sat in the darkness, trying to clear his head enough to think a way out of his situation for what seemed like hours until the sound of footsteps could be heard approaching the door.

The door opened and Voldemort entered, harsh light suddenly blinding Harry as the man entered swiftly. Harry shrank away from the light, but as soon as Voldemort was close enough, he gathered all the strength he had and threw himself at the man in a desperate escape plan.

Voldemort caught him easily and shoved him back against a wall, pinning his wrists above his head. The rough movement aggravated Harry's injuries and he cried out, wanting to curl in on himself, he allowed his head to fall in submission for the moment.

"Tsk, Harry, looks like you've caught a fever, some of your injuries are quite infected by now..." Voldemort noted, having cast a diagnostic charm on him, "And your actions aren't convincing me to heal you at all, but you'd be interested to know that Hogwarts did indeed fall, Wizarding Britain is now completely and utterly _mine._"

Voldemort smiled at Harry, a full smile showing his teeth, almost like a threat, a shark's smile – the smile of a predator victorious.

"No..." Harry uttered, lifting his head to stare in horror at Voldemort.

"Yes, Harry, how does it feel to know that your friends, the last of the resistance, has been **crushed**?" Voldemort whispered intensely, pleased at Harry's upset.

"You... you monster!" Harry screamed, struggling as much as his injuries would allow without completely knocking the breath out of him.

Voldemort snarled at Harry's actions and slapped him, gripping his jaw and forcing Harry to look at him.

"Your friends are dead, I made sure of it myself. Crying about it won't bring them back you fool... So weak and vulnerable in your emotion, Harry Potter, it will be the death of you one day – Oh, but wait, since I can't kill you, maybe I'll simply wait for you to kill yourself one day, just let me know when you're ready for a rope, yes?" He taunted, watching the desperation and torment flash through the boy's eyes.

Voldemort let him go and Harry slid to the floor, absolutely horrified at the outcome of the war, he had nothing left now, not even Hogwarts was a beacon of hope as it once was.

He wrapped his arms around itself as Voldemort watched dispassionately, completely still in a neutral position, eyes fixed on the broken saviour.

He lashed out after a few more moments, forcefully opening Harry's mouth and pouring a potion down the boy's throat. Harry thrashed for a few seconds, and choked as he rejected the thick liquid, however, most of it made it's way into his system.

"That should heal most of your injuries, albeit... slowly. You're in for a rough twenty-four hours Harry." He told Harry in simple terms, leaving the vial on the floor as he stood and stalked away from the room, leaving Harry to his pain as his bones shifted underneath skin that tore and knit itself back together with the movement.

Rough night indeed.

* * *

Voldemort sat in his throne room, fingers steeped and expression thoughtful.

Harry Potter had been a thorn in his side for so long that it had been exhilarating to beat him down in the courtyard, and again in the dungeon before feeding him the potion.

To him, it would be thrilling to completely tame Potter and keep him as a war trophy, though after so many failed attempts to capture or kill the light's saviour, it seemed miraculous to have the Potter boy in his grasp at last.

It would be delightful to kill the boy and hang his head on a pike at the Ministry of Magic, but... it would be much more pleasing for Voldemort to turn the boy into a mindless slave -without the use of magic.

He stood up swiftly and strode out of his throne room.

His movements were graceful, but not the kind that you could admire – Voldemort's grace came from his confidence and ability to kill; his gracefulness was one to be avoided.

He made his way to the dungeons, it had been well over 24 hours since he'd last encountered Potter, and a full three days since he had taken him from Hogwarts. The boy was surely starved by now...

He opened the door and looked upon the expected sight of Harry curled up in a corner: healed but filthy with dust, general grime and dried blood.

There was a small pool of vomit near to the boy and Voldemort cleaned it with a flick of his wand, also cleaning Harry, wanting a fresh canvas, so that he'd see the fresh wounds clearly on the boy.

"Voldemort, what-" Harry croaked out, interrupted as Voldemort lashed out and hit him for speaking out of turn.

"Did I give you permission to speak, my dear Harry?" Voldemort asked sweetly, a mocking tone that made Harry feel even more uneasy, he hesitantly shook his head in response.

"I didn't think so."

Voldemort snarled as he grabbed the boy by his hair and dragged him out of his corner to the centre of the room. Looking up, Harry noticed hook on the ceiling above him and felt a flash of panic as Voldemort attached a rope to it – What would the Dark Lord do to him? - But Voldemort didn't attach the nope to his neck, only his hands, keeping him from striking the Dark Lord in retaliation to the beating he would receive shortly.

"Now, Harry," Voldemort began as he went about summoning all sorts of muggle torture tools, "If you're good today, I might allow you some food to fill that disgusting mud-blood body of yours."

Harry would have protested against the insult, but he was weak from days without food and little amounts of water (a cup had appeared with water in it every few hours, there was even a small toilet in the cell, but no food unfortunately), and despite being recently healed, he hadn't forgotten the pain he'd been in before, though it didn't match the pain of the Cruciatus curse.

The Dark Lord moved to a spot beyond Harry's poor vision, behind him, and Harry tensed up, not trusting the Dark Lord to stand behind him at all.

One of Voldemort's sharp nails ran slowly down his back, feeling his spinal cord, Harry shuddered out of fear, and with good reason: The other man stepped back, there was a brief noise of something moving through the air at a high speed, then the sound of the object hitting Harry's flesh.

A sharp whip had cut through Harry's already torn clothing and left a painful sting in it's wake.

Voldemort stepped closer once more.

"How does it feel Harry? Does it hurt more than the knowledge I gave to you yesterday? That everyone who ever cared for you is **dead**?" Voldemort purred out, his clawed hand touching the stinging wound through the shirt, nails digging into the flesh and pulling a pained whimper from Harry's throat.

"Answer me!"

"No..." Harry gasped out.

"Let's make it hurt more then."

Voldemort stepped back and whipped him again, harder, blood shining in the dim lighting as it began to coat the whip, each blow that the Dark Lord dealt digging deeper into Harry's back, forcing screams from a parched throat.

After ten hits, Voldemort stopped and watched as the blood dripped down the boy's sliced-up back, with a non-verbal spell, he pulled the rest of the clothing (which had survived the attack) off of Harry's torso, smirking at the better view he had of the golden boy's blood dripping from the broken flesh,

"What about now Harry? Does it hurt so badly that you completely forgot about your little friends? I can make you forget them Harry, if you want me to, you only have to behave and ask nicely." Voldemort offered, walking around the boy to get a view of Harry's pained face.

He stood close to Harry, waiting on an answer from the panting would-be saviour.

"It... hurts..."

"Yes, very good Harry." Voldemort responded sarcastically, wrapping his arms around the boy in a mockery of a hug, placing his hands over the open wounds.

"I'm going to make it hurt more now." He warned, then dug his nails directly into the wounds and forced his nails downwards, opening them more, feeling the flesh gather under his nails, blood spattering over his hands.

Harry screamed and bucked in his arms, swaying where he stood, unable to get away.

"Please..." Harry breathed out.

"Please what?" Voldemort purred, leaning in close to Harry.

"Make the pain go away."

Voldemort withdrew his hands, licking the blood from his fingertips, making a show of rolling his eyes back into his head at the taste, knowing that Harry would be horrified at how crazy his captor actually was.

"Which pain ails you, Harry?" He asked, cleaning his whip and sending it back to wherever it had come from in the first place.

"My... back." He managed to say.

"Your back?" Voldemort repeated, sounding falsely surprised, "Not your friends? Oh dear, what would they say about you betraying their memory like this? Begging for your pain to be gone while they lie in their graves... But you asked so nicely." Voldemort cleaned the blood away and placed a slow acting healing charm on the boy's back, leaving him hanging still.

"I'll be back with food later." He announced, then the Dark Lord left Harry in the dark once more.

* * *

Weeks passed with Voldemort treating Harry in much the same way, using a new method with each visit, more harsh if Harry regained enough strength to fight back, beating him and rewarding him for his different behaviours until Harry "learned" how to act in the way Voldemort wanted him to.

On the 2nd of June 1998, a month after the war ended, Harry was completely defeated, broken and submissive to Voldemort's every whim.

He lay on the floor of his familiar cell, stark naked (he'd lost the right to clothes after calling Voldemort a "half-blooded hypocrite"), and counted the minutes in his head, waiting for Voldemort to visit. After he'd lost his right to clothing, he'd been worried about sexual torture alongside what Voldemort had already dealt him, but the man hadn't touched him in that way at all, the closest to sexual the man had ever gotten was with his purring.

For Voldemort, Harry knew, the sessions had been all about gaining his submission, nothing else (well, maybe satisfying Voldemort's blood-lust and sadistic tendencies...) and Harry knew that today, he would be allowed to leave his cell for the first time in a month.

Voldemort had kept him informed of the date as this day had approached, because (as he had been told repeatedly) today was the day that Voldemort would be addressing the general public to announce changes to the Wizarding system. Harry had asked what changes were to be made, but had received a scarring blow to his thigh for digging into business that didn't concern him.

The door to Harry's cell opened, and Voldemort strode in, looking immaculate, as he always did, carrying a bundle of robes.

"Good morning Harry, would you stand up for me?" He asked, observing Harry's form.

"Hm, you're still dirty after last night... Tsk."

Voldemort waved his wand and Harry was clean, a blank slate once more – the only way to know that Harry had been through anything at all were his eyes and his scars.

His body was covered in scars, not only the lightening one he was so famous for, but from the various torture he had endured over the past month, Voldemort never got rid of any scars, he allowed it to heal slowly, but only to the point where the wounds became scar tissue.

He passed Harry the robes and instructed him to get dressed, waiting for the boy to comply.

"Good..." He placed a collar around Harry's neck and attached a leash to it, "Now, you've not seen anyone else for a long time, so here are a few rules: Never speak to anyone without my permission, never speak to anyone about what has happened here if I have given you permission to speak, never remove your collar and don't look any purebloods in the eye. If you do, I'll have to punish you, understand?"

Harry nodded and immediately looked down, taking a submissive role as Voldemort led him out of his cell for the first time, walking through the dungeons of Voldemort's manor house.

When they were in the foyer, Voldemort turned to him and smirked.

"Good luck Potter."

They apparated into the Ministry and Harry entered a new life at Voldemort's beck and call – Truly, the war between Light and Dark was over, and Harry Potter... Was finished.

* * *

**So, did you enjoy it? Was it too gory? Let me know by leaving me a review!**

**Take care, my lovely readers,**

**~Riddle**


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